


Come back to me

by Tashonix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, It's me and you all know I don't do a lot of angst, Light Angst, Mild war references, So the ending is happy and sappy, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 17:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11650965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashonix/pseuds/Tashonix
Summary: Follow a young Fitz and Simmons through a series of morning after's, moving through the outbreak of war and an uncertain future, Fitz's determination to serve his country and Jemma's promise that he'll come home.





	Come back to me

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a prompt created with the [Fitzsimmons Mix ‘n Match Mystery Prompts](http://leggypeggys.tumblr.com/post/163271661145/fitzsimmons-mix-n-match-mystery) which was: 
> 
> World War II + The morning after + GIF

\-- 1939 -- 

‘ _BRITAIN AT WAR_ ’ the morning’s paper declared, the eager young salesman bouncing from person to person as Jemma made her way to school. Her younger sister, Evie, followed, looking as downtrodden as she felt. 

“Paper, miss?” 

“No, thank you,” Jemma replied, working her way past. 

She didn’t need yet another reminder that their country had gone to war. Their father, a World War I veteran, had left the house early that morning to see how he could help. 

They continued to walk in silence, though she brightened when she reached the school gate, her best friend Fitz waiting as usual. His friend Hunter was with him, chatting animatedly. 

“...It's not just war, think of the adventure, mate!” Hunter was gesticulating wildly. 

“Think of the casualties,” Jemma cut in. “Morning.” 

“I'm going inside.” Evie brushed past them to go through the gate. 

“Me too. Just think about it mate,” Hunter clapped Fitz on the shoulder. “Later, Fitzsimmons.” 

“Think about what?” Jemma asked warily, already fearing the answer. 

“Enlisting,” Fitz’s voice was quiet and Jemma’s heart sank. “He wants to join an armoured division.”

“You weren't seriously considering joining him?” Jemma stared in horror at him. 

“Not right now I-” he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I wouldn't ask mum to lie about my age, you know that. But if they ask, Jemma...I, I don't know that I could refuse.” 

Jemma swallowed, tongue suddenly feeling like lead in her mouth. Although her father had returned, so many hadn't from the supposed war to end all wars. This war would be no different. 

“Jemma?” 

She blinked and focused on him again, a concerned look on his face. 

“Are you-”

Mercifully the school bell rang at that moment as she didn't think she could answer that question. 

“Come on Fitz, I believe we’re dissecting something today.” Jemma put on a brave face as he groaned, though for the first time the prospect of cutting into something was completely unappealing to her too. 

\-- 1940 --

_“Jemma!!”_

_She could hear Fitz’s anguished shout. They’d been separated in the chaos when the first bomb caught everyone by surprise, both stumbling around in the haze, calling for each other._

_“Fitz!” She thought she could see him silhouetted against a building on fire._

_“Jemma!” The figure called again and lunged towards her, desperately grabbing hold of her fingers._

_She started for a moment until she heard his voice._

_“It’s me, it’s me, we’re okay,” he panted and looked around frantically before pointing. “There!”_

_They made a mad dash to the Red Cross shelter, a volunteer calling them to hurry as more planes streaked overhead and the anti-aircraft gunners gave back as good as they could._

_Still clutching his hand, they raced down the stairs as the door was hastily shut behind them, hopefully their sanctuary and not their tomb._

_And as the ceiling swayed, the dust fell and the ground rumbled beneath their feet, Jemma and Fitz sat as close together as possible, holding each other tightly as the bombs kept falling._

“Everyone alright down there?” A voice shouted from the top of the stairs, daylight now visible.

Jemma lifted her head and squinted, her limbs both cramped and trembling. She didn't think she could let go of Fitz if she tried. 

Strangers replied in the affirmative as they begun to shuffle out of the shelter. 

“Jemma?” Fitz cupped her face and looked at her earnestly. “Are you alright?” 

“I think so,” she croaked. “I, I need a minute.” 

“Okay.” His relief was palpable despite the dust streaked across his face. 

It was the first time they had held each other so close for so long yet it didn't feel strange. Rather, it felt like his arms were exactly where she was meant to be. 

“Jemma, when the time comes...” Though his voice was soft, it echoed in the now empty room, cutting right through her. “If I can help stop this, if they-” 

“I know,” she cut him off, burying her head in his shoulder. 

“Jemma, it'll be okay,” Fitz whispered and brushed a stray hair behind her ear before gently extricating himself. “Let's go home.” 

She let Fitz lead her home, willing herself to believe him despite her rising dread the war would call for them again. 

\-- 1943 -- 

When Fitz showed up on her doorstep on an early summer morning, her heart plummeted. 

They’d both known it was only a matter of time before conscription came calling, Jemma’s own call up having arrived scant weeks ago. 

She wrapped her arms around him, standing there in the doorway until her father called them inside. Jemma continued to hold his hand as they made their way to her room and sat down beside her bed. 

“What are you thinking?” Jemma scooted closer and grasped his hand again. 

“Armoured,” Fitz swallowed. “Go and join Hunter. And uh, well, I always wanted to see a tank.” A slight shiver ran through him and Jemma resisted the urge to gasp. 

Of all the things he could have chosen, he of course chose one of the most dangerous to help his friend. She didn’t want him anywhere near something referred to as the _Tommy Cooker_.

“Jemma,” his voice caught on her name, “I might, I might not-” 

“Don’t!” Jemma gripped his hand fiercely and fixed him with a stern look. “Don’t even think it! I couldn’t-” she choked back a sob, “I couldn’t bear to live in a world without you in it.” 

He nodded, eyes full of words unspoken. The intensity of his gaze was too much and she turned to rest her head against his shoulder, pressing her eyes shut as silent tears began to fall. 

They were still for a while, Jemma’s hand in his and Fitz stroking it with his thumb. She was in love with her best friend, though she couldn't spring that on him now, not with such a heavy load already on his shoulders. 

Instead, she broke their loaded silence with a whisper. 

“Come back to me, Fitz.”

“Always.” Fitz grasped her hand and nestled his head against hers, his lips pressing the faintest kiss against her hairline. 

\-- 1944 -- 

_Dear Jemma,_

_They're building up to something big here, we all feel it. There’s [REDACTED] , though we’re all prepared. I've been passing the time drawing prototypes, particularly the [REDACTED]. I'm well too and I hope you are - has Evie graduated yet?_

_They tell us that the censors will be more strict so this may be my last letter for a while. I hope you know ~~I-~~ ~~I lo~~ How much you mean to me - I promise to do my best to come back to you. _

_Thinking of you always,  
Fitz_

Jemma clutched Fitz’s last letter tightly, bile in her throat and fear in her bones as the morning’s BBC broadcast began. 

_‘Under the command of General Eisenhower, Allied naval forces, supported by strong air forces, began landing Allied armies this morning on the northern coast of France.’_

Her family was huddled around the wireless listening intently, their expressions a mixture of eagerness and worry as the announcer described the scale of the invasion. 

“Jemma, there’s no-” her father began but she shook her head and fled to her room upstairs as the tears started to fall. 

What if he hadn't made it onto the beach? Or worse - barely stepped foot onto it. Where was he now? If he was alive, was he frightened? Was he okay with his fellow soldiers? Was Hunter still with him?

She closed her eyes and willed her brain to stop. It felt like Fitz was still with her. Stay positive, she firmly told herself. It wasn't enough though, and Jemma, who never prayed at all, leant up on her bed and clasped her hands together. 

_Please universe, send him back to me._

\-- 1945 -- 

“Are you coming, Jemma?” Her mother asked, bag in hand as they prepared to visit friends. 

“No, thank you, have a great time though.” Jemma shook her head and offered a small smile. 

V-E Day celebrations continued in earnest, soldiers returning home each day, though Fitz was yet to be one of them. She’d last heard from him somewhere in Germany over a month ago. 

“He’ll be home soon, Jemma, I know it.” Evie hugged her tightly. 

Jemma nodded as her family shuffled out the door, pausing a few moments before she followed to complete her daily ritual of checking the mail. 

She waved to her neighbours, the Mackenzies, who were playing in the yard with their daughter, Hope. As her hand reached into the letterbox, the air seemed to still and her spine tingled, something urging her to turn toward the end of the street. 

Jemma gasped as she straightened. He was limping but she'd recognise that gait anywhere. 

“FITZ!” She shouted, running down the street as fast as she could, ignoring the curious glances of others. 

As she neared, he dropped the duffle he was holding to outstretch his arms and she cannoned into them, nearly knocking him over. 

“Fitz,” she breathed, looking him over. 

This image of him would be forever etched in her mind; resplendent in uniform, tired, yet eyes sparkling, as he smiled broadly at her. As he opened his mouth to speak she cut him off with a kiss. 

She’d never thought their first kiss would be in the middle of the street, though everything faded as she focused on the sensation of him kissing her back in earnest. Years of pent up feelings and their separation poured into a kiss so potent she felt her knees weakening, grateful when Fitz grasped her waist and tugged her closer. 

Eventually they had to part for air, Jemma winding her arms around his shoulders while her head reclaimed its snuggle spot. Fitz’s hand stroked her hair lightly until she leant back and kissed him again, slowly this time. 

“Jemma,” he murmured as they parted again. 

“Mmm?” 

“We have an audience.” He chuckled and kissed her forehead as she glanced over his shoulder. 

“Oh.” She blushed as she remembered where they were, though there were smiles on the faces of the onlookers. 

They disentangled and hurried to her house, resuming their position on the floor of her room. She’d forgotten all about Fitz’s limp until he winced while gingerly lowering himself to the floor. 

“Fitz-” Jemma gently touched his leg. 

“It’s nothing, just some shrapnel now, they say it will work itself out.” 

His voice was nonchalant and Jemma frowned as she stroked the side of his leg. 

“I have Hunter to thank, he threatened to go AWOL with me to find a hospital if they didn't send me back to one. So close to the end no one wanted to argue about it or do anything rash.” 

“Thank you Hunter,” Jemma whispered. “I hope he's okay too.” 

“Me too,” Fitz squeezed her hand. “What’s this?” His fingertips brushed over a cut on her cheek. 

“Oh, it’s silly, I was knocked over on V-E Day.” Jemma smiled, having forgotten about it entirely. 

“Of all people, I didn’t think I’d be comparing war wounds with you,” Fitz grinned as Jemma tipped her head towards his shoulder and laughed. 

“Fitz, I-” 

This time he cut her off with a kiss and she melted into him, everything falling away save the sensation of his lips melding with hers and her heart racing. Her lips chased his as they parted, earning one last kiss before settling into his arms. 

Hands still clasped together, Fitz drew a deep breath and stared at the ceiling before turning back toward her. 

“Jemma, will you-”

“Yes,” she answered quickly, locking eyes. 

“You don't even know what I'm asking!” Fitz chuckled. 

“I'm saying yes to anything you ask, Fitz. I don't ever want to be apart from you again,” she smiled and kissed his cheek, eliciting a large grin in return. 

“Then will you marry me, Jemma Anne Simmons?” 

“As long as I can be Jemma Anne Fitzsimmons.” 

She was sure they were both grinning like loons as Fitz reached into a pocket. The ring he slid onto her finger was elegant, yet simple, an intricate silver band with a small diamond inset. 

“It was my grandmother’s.” Fitz was smiling, a somewhat awed expression on his face. 

“I love you,” Jemma blurted. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before I-” 

“I knew,” Fitz declared. “I love you too, I’m sure I’ve always loved you.” 

She reached up to cradle his face, fingers dancing across his jaw, as she kissed him softly. 

Weeks later, they found out Hunter had been evacuated injured himself and had proposed to an American nurse he met in hospital, Bobbi, who insisted they have a double wedding.

The wedding took place on a sunny afternoon, Fitz in his dress uniform and Jemma in a dress made from a combination of their mothers. Evie stood in as Jemma’s bridesmaid and Hunter, of course, as best man. 

Their vows were simple and traditional, albeit with one alteration. 

“And do you, Jemma and Leopold, promise to have and to hold each other from this day forwards, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish and to always come back to one another?” The priest smiled. 

“Always,” they announced together, hands intertwined. 

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” 

Fitz leant in and as with everything Jemma met him halfway, more than ready to spend her life side by side, always. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't wind your way here via Tumblr, this is the GIF:


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